


Like Hope From Ashes

by Taamar



Category: Torchwood
Genre: COE Fixit, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taamar/pseuds/Taamar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that Ianto is unhappy to be alive- quite the contrary- it’s just that he wishes he didn’t have Cyber technology to thank for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Five years. Ianto Jones has moved on, or so he tells himself every time something reminds him of Jack Harkness. Which is to say, every god damned day. But Ianto died in Thames House for all the rest of the world knows, and Jack left Earth, and Ianto’s still a little bit pissed off about the  _Don’t_ , so there’s not much to be done about it except to keep doing his job. Saving the world.

He’s with Torchwood Four now. The branch Jack described as ‘lost’ as if it were a set of keys he’d misplaced, but is actually nearly two dozen people who went into hiding when their field of research became too dangerous for the rest of Torchwood to have access. And it’s that field of research that brought Ianto back to life.

It’s not that Ianto is unhappy to be alive- quite the contrary- it’s just that he wishes he didn’t have Cyber technology to thank for it.

The first step of a cyberconversion, the very first step, before the emotion inhibitor or the brain removal or the somatic implants, is the Boot Chip. And the Boot Chip’s function is very simple: enact a controlled shut down of the brain when oxygen becomes scarce such that when the body systems are able to support it again, the brain can be restarted with no loss of functionality.  In the very few victims of the Cybermen whose conversion was stopped at that moment when the chip had been placed and nothing else, the person could later be brought back from any death that hadn’t damaged the body beyond repair. And only Torchwood Four knows this and has the equipment to do it. It’s too dangerous for anyone else. Just the thought of Yvonne Hartman with the Boot Chip- Ianto shudders.

So when Ianto Jones, survivor of Canary Wharf, was killed in Thames House, his body attacked by a virus and his brain starved of oxygen , Torchwood Four had to make sure his body was never autopsied (as is standard for all Torchwood employees) or the chip would be found. And once they had gone through the trouble of infiltrating the building where the casualties were being stored, swapping the body, and creating a chain of fuckups that sent the replacement body to the incinerator with the rest before it could be claimed by the remaining Cardiff team, it was deemed to be a terrible waste not to bring him back, especially after they’d seen his records. They offered him relocation and a new identity, but Ianto stayed with Torchwood Four. He’s dead, after all; what’s left for him in the world?

It was difficult; moving on after his own death was much more challenging than moving on after the death of a friend or lover. But Ianto worked hard, focused on his new job, and now he’s heading up the division of Torchwood Four that recovers hardware from the bodies of those victims who weren’t so lucky. There have been far more incursions than anyone realizes, one or two a year, but when identified, most can be rooted out before they kill more than a dozen or so people. Ianto wonders if considering the deaths of a dozen innocent civilians to be  _a minor incident_  is a sign that he’s been with Torchwood too long.  

It’s not easy. There are times when it’s too much like Lisa, the blood and the body parts. Sometimes he sees a face still contorted in fear and agony. Sometimes he has to walk through blood, his feet making obscene sticky sounds as he collects what he’s come for. In his mind he can still hear screaming. Often, the easiest way to clean up when he’s finished is to burn everything. It’s a smell he knows, one that still features heavily in his nightmares. He does his job, he always does, even when his hands are shaking and there are tears in his eyes; the breakdown comes later, when he’s alone. No one sees him cowering in the corner of his quarters or heaving his guts up in the shower. Privately, he cries until he chokes and clenches his fists until the quarter moons where his nails dig in bleed freely. In front of everyone else, he’s composed and distant. His colleagues think he’s heartless, cold as ice and twice as hard. It’s easier that way.

In many ways, it reminds him of his time in Cardiff staging corpses to hide the alien nature of their demise. The retrieval and paperwork is similar too, and even the espresso machine is familiar, though only because he searched one out. The one thing missing is Jack, and Ianto is still pretending that he’s not missing Jack at all.

Sometimes he almost convinces himself.

As it had after the destruction of the Cyberman that had once been Lisa, work keeps Ianto distracted. Especially now, with the cleanup of a major Cyber invasion fueled by the stored consciousnesses of the dead. Most of the Cyber units launched into the sky to dissipate the pollen cloud after the confrontation in the cemetery (there’s another department to research that), but a few remained (-and that), and it’s Ianto’s responsibility to reclaim those units and separate any human remains from the cybernetic and then disassemble the Cyber parts for study. He also makes an effort to identify the human remains and give them a proper burial (some for the second time), though that’s not strictly his job. Still, it’s the human and humane thing to do, and in this job, as in all of Torchwood, it’s a struggle to hold to humanity. Gwen had managed, of course, but that hadn’t always been to her benefit, or the team’s. Or Ianto’s, when Jack got caught up in it. And here Ianto is thinking about Jack Harkness again. He refuses to indulge, shifting his thoughts to the reason he’ll never see Jack again, anyway.

When Torchwood Four first woke him and explained how, he was terrified and furious. They knew that he was at Canary Wharf, of course, but they didn’t know about Lisa, and it was a long time before Ianto was willing to trust them enough to tell them. He once asked if Lisa could have been saved if she'd been brought to Four, but they said the same thing Jack had told him: once the conversion has progressed beyond the Boot Chip there's no turning back. It is oddly reassuring to know that her death had never been his fault.

It’s not as if he hasn’t enough other issues to occupy him. When they retrieved his body, he had been dead (mostly dead?) for three days. Kept in cold storage, the worst of the cellular damage had been averted, but they'd kept him brain-dead for another week while they dealt with the effects of lack of bloodflow. It took time before his thoughts weren’t sluggish, and it required months of physical therapy to fight off the virus and restore his body to its pre-death strength. Hours of work broadened his shoulders and refined his abdomen…. His legs are strong and his stamina better than ever; he can run for miles. Now past thirty, a milestone he’d never expected to reach, he’s in the best shape of his life.

He had died. Being alive at all was a pleasant surprise, but it meant that he had to confront all the things he’d been refusing to deal with before, plus Jack’s thoughtless  _Don’t_. Beyond that, he is still processing having had undetected Cyber implants. Why hadn’t UNIT found them when they released him after Canary Wharf? How had Owen not seen? At first, he lived in fear of the chip somehow activating and converting him, which was ridiculous, as he’d unknowingly been carrying it around for  _years_  before dying.

That’s how his life is separated now- into  _before dying_  and  _after dying_. Everything belongs neatly in one of those categories, with very little crossover. Coffee is in both. Suits and Weevils and stopwatches  _before_ , casual clothes, lab work, and lonely nights  _after_. He tried dating. Tried relationships, tried casual sex, and tried some combination of the two that was  _almost_  like being with Jack, except that no one else could ever be like Jack. It was all unsatisfying; Ianto has resigned himself to the internet and his right hand, pretending all the while that he’s not picturing Jack in his fantasies.

His right hand, sadly, is of no help with his emotional issues. And Ianto has them. How could he not? Rough childhood, estranged sister, tragic alien invasion, Cyber-converted girlfriend killed by his emotionally distant, promiscuous immortal boyfriend who occasionally pined for their (now married) co-worker, the deaths of his team, then, you know, his  _own_  death and subsequent resurrection. Also, he’s  _lonely_. He’d be in therapy until the end of time if Torchwood offered any such thing. As it is, when he wakes up screaming because digging microservos from the flesh and bone of a conversion victim reminded him of cutting Lisa from the conversion table, the only thing he can do is drink himself into oblivion, then go back to work with a hangover the next morning. And when he lies alone in his bed wishing for someone to hold him and remind him that there’s beauty in the universe, that Earth and humanity are worth fighting for, all he has are his memories of Jack. Which is exactly what he’s trying to avoid thinking about right now.

Around and around his thoughts go, until Torchwood Four’s director, Frederick Nguyen, comes to distract him with work.

“Jones,” the man says stiffly, making Ianto miss the more casual atmosphere of Cardiff, “You know the Doctor better than any of us…”

“I wouldn’t say that, Director.” He still can’t bear to call the man ‘Sir’ as the rest of them do.

“You’ve actually met him. More than once, and you’ve spent quite a bit of time with one of his companions.” Ianto’s lips thin, not liking the direction of this at all. “You’ve met another. You’re probably the foremost expert outside of UNIT, and the last thing we want to do is let them know we exist. So, yes, you’re our go-to for Doctor questions.”

Sure that this is going nowhere good, but unable to see any way out of it, Ianto gestures open handed for the man to continue.

"The point is, Grandison’s team finally got the CCTV footage from St. Paul’s Cathedral, right when the Cybermen first arrived. There’s a woman with the Doctor. Not his current companion, but an older woman. She seems to be the missing piece in all this. Do you know why the Doctor would be so rattled by someone called the Master?”

_Fuck._

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Cybermen. The Master. Two of Jack’s least favourite world-ending scenarios, together at last. All he needs now is Daleks, except that might leave him curled up in the corner gibbering. Or maybe child-controlling aliens; that has entered the hellish roll-call of his nightmares. Losing Ianto to his own overconfident stupidly, then murdering Steven outright left an emotional scar at least as deep as losing Rose and the Doctor had. And the Master… Jack never quite recovered from his year with the Master.

Ianto was the only reason he managed at all, after. It was Ianto who held him through the flashbacks, who listened when he needed to talk without asking questions Jack was too damaged to answer. Ianto, who was brilliant and beautiful and loyal. Ianto, whom he betrayed with his careless _Don’t_. How Jack wishes he could take it back, take it all back, everything he’d done to hurt Ianto. Take back the lies and half-truths. Undo leaving with the Doctor without a word. Change every moment he’d turned to someone else. Even, or perhaps especially, redo all the faffing about with Gwen Cooper and push her away. There had never been a future for him and Gwen, and there could have been with Ianto. If he hadn’t fucked it up in Thames House, that is. And it wasn’t like he didn’t know how it would feel to see Ianto die, he’d watched him eviscerated by the Master during the Year when Ianto had been found working with the Resistance. Jack always knew what Ianto meant to him, yet he wasted so much precious time.

The Master was killed on the Valiant, though. Right in front of Jack, and refused to regenerate (and the less said of the Doctor’s gut-wrenching reaction to _that_ the better), but regenerate he had. Or _she_ had, proving that gender is not fixed in Time Lords. Then that latest incarnation of the Master was reported killed by one of the Cyberconverted. Jack doesn’t believe it for a second, and neither does his source. Which means he has to get back to Earth to find out what really happened, and to help if he can. And whether he’s ready or not, to face his past.

It’s been five years since Ianto’s death drove him away. He’s been back to Earth a few times, always leaving when the memories got to be too much, but staying close, keeping an eye on things just in case he is needed. It only takes a few small favours called in to get himself to London. It’s as good a place to start as any.

London hasn’t changed much. One Canada Square, the former site of Torchwood One, has been rebuilt with a generic office building and a memorial, but Torchwood London remains absent, as is Torchwood Three. Archie at Torchwood Two stopped responding to anyone years ago, the branch is assumed defunct, and Torchwood Four is still MIA, leaving UNIT as his best source of information. Sadly, his best contact and close friend Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart died years ago, but Alastair’s daughter Kate ( _fine_ woman, she doesn’t even seem to hold their brief affair against him) has remained in contact. It was she who informed him of the Master’s recent return.

When he met her for coffee immediately on arrival, she was shockingly forthcoming given his past interaction with UNIT. She shared a debriefing of the Doctor’s companion, including the recitation of an impassioned speech given by a rogue Cyberman, Danny Pink- the soldier who outdid the Doctor. Jack feels a kinship with the man and wishes he could have met him; he thinks they might have got on. And from the pre-Cyberman pictures, he was hot. Also hot: the Doctor’s companion, Clara. No surprise there, the Doctor _does_ tend toward attractive young women. Not hot at all, though, is the newest incarnation of the Master. Oh, she might be attractive enough, but her twisted expression curdles Jack’s stomach.

Kate has also given him some information- but oddly, no photo- on the newest incarnation of the Doctor. Older and somewhat abrasive, he’s more like Jack’s Doctor than the zany pinstriped or the loopy bow-tie-wearing versions. Also, he’s said to be making up for past wrongs, not that Jack has heard a word from him. It stings.

Now Jack’s standing in the graveyard where the Master’s so-called final showdown occurred, as he suspects was UNIT’s intention. There’s no footage of the event, but he’s been told where to start; the first breadcrumb on his search for the demented gingerbread house that is his old nemesis. While his damaged Vortex Manipulator may be utterly useless at manipulating the Vortex, it can still scan for energy signatures, so that’s what he does. What he finds confirms his suspicions. There’s a spot where the grass is slightly singed with the characteristic blast of a Cyberman's weapon. When scanned with Jack’s Vortex Manipulator, there’s the expected high-powered energy signature, which almost obscures the tiny blip of Vortex travel. The Master escaped.

Jack is hoping that the energy surge overloaded the transport, leaving the Master stranded wherever she went (Jack has some experience with this.) The Vortex surge wasn’t strong enough for a time hop or a long teleport, so if luck holds, the Master is still somewhere in London. Somewhere Jack can find her and end this as he knows the Doctor never could.

The problem he’s having now is that the Doctor’s innumerable Tardis visits have left Vortex energy all over London, everywhere he's ever landed since the first visit he made. Sure, Jack can distinguish a VM trace from the Tardis, but separating signal from noise is a non-trivial challenge, like trying to hear a whisper in a dance hall. In the end he resorts to a brute force approach: dividing the city into sections and crisscrossing each in a roughly grid-like pattern that corresponds to the London Underground, then graphing the readings from his VM. Bit by bit, he’s creating a map of the city overlain with spikes of energy, one for every Vortex event. Patterns emerge, clean spikes and troughs where the Doctor has visited, with some spots so thick with Vortex that the Doctor must landed there several times. The great, dark nova of void that had been Canary Wharf. Odd wobbles here and there, and some jagged spots where he _knows_ he had come and gone back when his Manipulator worked. So that’s what he’s looking for- one of the jagged spots identifying a non-Tardis time travel device.

Looking at his own jumps, he can see that they appear to correspond to the time or distance travelled, negative for departures, positive for arrivals. Some are in matched sets perfectly mirroring each other. He knows where the Master was when her device was triggered, so that’s what he is looking for now: an arrival spike that matches the departure in the graveyard.

London is big. Really big; from the surge, the Master could have gone as far as Harrow. And that was _days_ ago, she could be nearly anywhere by now, but Jack is betting that she stayed in London as the most likely place to encounter the Doctor. In any case, he needs to know where she arrived to figure out where she went, and mapping London, as daunting a prospect as it is, is the only way. Not for the first time, he misses his old team. Between them, Tosh and Ianto would have come up with an elegant, efficient way to scan the city, but Jack can’t imagine what it would have been; he’s stuck with doing this the tedious, time consuming way.  His VM scans a radius of nearly a kilometer, which means he can cover eighty percent of the city just riding the Tube, so if he’s lucky he’ll find what he’s looking for without having to go out on foot. Every few hours he stops, uploads the data onto the MacBook Kate gave him (it’s bugged and he knows it), and hopes.

He never does find the corresponding spike to the trough of the Master’s disappearance. What he _does_ find, almost due west of the Vauxhall station, is an area where there’s no Vortex activity at all. None. Not even the natural background fluctuations of undisturbed time. There’s something there, and Jack can’t imagine anyone more likely to consume time itself than the Master.

* * *

 

Jack is regretting his choices. In an extra-long lifetime of extremely poor decision-making, searching for the Master in an abandoned underground industrial estate with no plan or backup whatsoever easily ranks in the top ten. Not as bad as walking into Thames House with guns to threaten an alien in bulletproof glass, perhaps, but only because in this case no one else was endangered by his his recklessness. Duct taped to the massive condenser cooling pipes, Jack is thankful for that small mercy. He’s also very glad that he’s on the _intake_ pipe, as the low constant thrum of generators tells him that the out-of-commission Battersea Power Station is apparently running at full capacity. Even so, the air is cooler than it ought to be in a coal fired power plant.

The Master swooshes in with her clicking heels and prim Edwardian riding suit. Jack saw her only for a moment when she surprised him from behind then hit him with a length of pipe. He’s still feeling a tender spot on his skull; the blow knocked him out but didn’t kill him. He's sure this is deliberate; the Master knows through extensive experimentation not only exactly what it takes to injure rather than kill, but how long it takes to recover from each. Now she's cupping a saucer in one hand and sipping from a delicate teacup with a mocking smirk so reminiscent of her previous regeneration that Jack’s blood runs cold.

“Hello, pet. I must say, I didn’t expect to see you again.”

Jack tries to retort, only to find his mouth covered with tape. The Master smiles.

“Manners, dear. I’d forgotten how poor yours are, showing up unannounced, and outside of visiting hours without even a hostess gift! Other than your lovely self, of course. I hadn’t realized last time how very lovely you are.” She balances her teacup on the safety railing, looking him up and down appraisingly in a way Jack remembers all too well. She trails a short manicured nail across his cheek before ripping the tape away.

“Isn’t duct tape just the most wonderful thing? I don’t even need to keep you quiet, there’s no one to hear, but it’s just such _fun_ to take it off. And oh, I’ve forgotten to offer you a cuppa. How terribly rude of me.”

Insane, Jack thinks. Still insane, but an entirely different flavor; saccharine sweet rather than outright sociopathic, though Jack’s sure she’s every bit as warped and ruthless as her previous self. She’s reaching for the teacup and raising it to his lips, then pouring the scalding hot liquid too quickly for him to swallow. It burns down his chin and neck leaving a blistering red trail from lip to collarbone. The Master rubs vigorously at his injury with a handkerchief she’s kept in her sleeve, doing more damage than if she’d simply let it be. He won’t give her the satisfaction of flinching. It’s only pain, and he’s used to it.

“There now. What a mess you’ve made, poppet. Barely housebroken. Sometimes I wonder why the Doctor keeps you at all, but then he doesn’t really, does he? Uses you and dumps you as soon as he can. Calls you wrong. Tch. I’ve never minded, but then I’ve always enjoyed a little... discomfort.”

At the mention of the Doctor, Jack turns away as much as his restraints will allow. The Master must have scanned his memories while he was unconscious, and now she knows all his weak spots; she’ll prod him where it hurts most, but he knows to expect it now. He won’t let her get to him. The truth is, he hasn’t heard from his old friend -once crush- in years. Not since the Doctor’s misguided attempt to set Jack up with that young man from Sto. As if she’s listening in, she asks if he’s seen the Doctor since his most recent regeneration.

“Not lately,” he says, feigning disinterest. The Master isn’t fooled.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? And his latest look- that will be even worse.”

Jack has no idea what she’s talking about, and isn’t going to ask. She’s clearly prodding for a response and he refuses to give it to her. It’s not just the Master, though; there’s clearly something unusual about the Doctor’s most recent face. When Kate hadn’t shown him pictures, he’d thought it strange, but in light of the Master’s glee, it’s downright suspicious. He vows to get to the bottom of it. Later. When he’s not quite so tied up.

The Master isn’t giving up on it. “Oh, to be there when you see who he’s become!” Now she’s bouncing on her toes like an excited child. “Oh, please say I can be there? Please? You’ll be absolutely _crushed_ , darling. Delicious.”

Insane. Cruel. Manic. Obsessed with the Doctor. Business as usual for the Master. Jack tunes out, only listening to the cadence of her ranting so he can nod at appropriate moments. It goes on until she realizes that he’s not listening.

“You’re no fun at _all_ , Jack Harkness,” she says with a churlish stamp of her foot. “But I’m sure I can remember how to entertain you. Go on, say something nice. No. Don’t bother.”

Then she shoots him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the fandom seems to like whumping Ianto, but I think beating Jack up is WAY more fun. Which is not to say that I won't make Ianto suffer a little.


	3. Chapter 3

Ianto’s Jack-related existential crisis notwithstanding, he has a job to do, and as a bonus, he’s hoping it will distract him from his memories. The footage the other team recovered shows Cybermen coming out of St Paul’s Cathedral, and there’s a good chance that there are some leftover parts and conversion equipment under there. He’ll scout, estimate what’s there, figure out safety protocols, and get his retrieval crew in. He writes up a mission plan and submits it for approval.

While he waits- and he has no doubt his excursion will be green-lighted; Director Nguyen knows that when Ianto Jones gets his focus on a thing it’s best to just let him run- Ianto watches and re-watches the footage. In addition to the older gentleman, who Ianto’s sure he’s seen somewhere before, the images show a pretty young lady and a woman _of a certain age_.  The Doctor, his companion, and the Master, who apparently came up female this regeneration. Ianto grins, imagining Jack’s reaction to a female Time Lord before remembering that this is the Master- the only being in all of time and space in whom Jack Harkness has absolutely no sexual interest. It’s quite an accomplishment, in a way. 

It will be easy enough for Ianto to get to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Easy enough to get under it to where the Cyber army was built up. There’s an entire city under the city, not just utilities and deep tunnels for the Tube, but catacombs for churches that haven’t existed for centuries, basements for building that have been built over, bomb shelters forgotten. Torchwood Four is under the city too, right below King’s College. It makes sense- nearly every Cyber incursion has started from London, but the undercity was largely safe from them until now. Ianto appreciates the irony: years of searching, and Torchwood Four was under Hartman’s nose the whole time, just four miles from Canary Wharf. The vast underground warren makes getting around the city easy, once you know the layout, and Ianto does. It’s much more complex than the Hub, and larger by a factor of 100, but he can picture the map in his mind in three dimensions and always knows where he is, just as he had in Cardiff. He’ll just go do the preliminary recon, then call the others in when he knows what equipment they’ll need to bring. 

St. Paul’s Cathedral is on the Underground, and so is King’s College. All Ianto has to do is access the nearby Temple station via one of the ventilation shafts, climb into the control room of a train from the unseen side, change trains as necessary, exit the same way. It’s actually quicker (and less expensive) than going up to the surface and taking a more conventional route. The St. Paul's station and the cathedral are on the same water line, so he travels through that tunnel into the utilities control room, and from there to the abandoned ossuary of Old St. Paul’s that has a duct to the unused storage corridors.  Only they’re not unused, and it’s not at all what the maps say should be there. 

Where there should be dark hallways and mildewed corners, there are glass cells and harsh fluorescent lighting as far as the eye can see. No, not cells- tanks. Like an aquarium, but with _chairs_. Thousands of tanks, empty except for one, which is filled with fluid and contains a seated skeleton. Ianto knows this must have something to do with the Cyber invasion, but he can’t imagine what. Presumably, all the other tanks were emptied, and their contents were… something. Ianto will leave figuring that out to Dr. James in Biotech; there’re no visible cyber implants, nothing for Ianto’s department at all. He wonders why _this_ tank didn’t empty. Perhaps the power was faulty, perhaps the drain pipe simply didn’t drain. Whatever it was, someone will need to bail the liquid and take the skeleton back to Torchwood. He notes location and dimensions and moves on. So far, he’s doing just fine. There’s nothing here that triggers his anxiety.

In another hallway he finds what he’s looking for: a conversion laboratory. Equipment is broken, pieces are scattered, and the computer terminals appear to be destroyed. Ianto spares the hope that the files are stored off-site; they’d be invaluable. Nonetheless, it’s the most complete setup they’ve seen since Canary Wharf, which had been non-typical. He walks around, mentally cataloguing what may be the most significant find they’ve ever had. Schematics. Restraints. A conversion table.

Ianto, having held it together up to this point with his usual professional detachment, reels. It’s not the same as the one he found Lisa in; it’s a twin unit with one platform for the Cyber exoskeleton and one for the soon-to-be-converted. Still, it’s close enough to make Ianto’s head spin, and it all comes back suddenly. Fire. Blood. Screams. Lisa begging him to save her while the gunshots of UNIT's clean up team echo through the halls. The taste of smoke and the fear of discovery. Ianto stumbles. He needs to sit down. Collapsing onto a convenient and incongruous armchair, he puts his head down on the nearby table, taking gasping breaths to stave off his panic attack.

He had them even before dying, but now, knowing there’s Cyber tech in his brain, they’ve become more frequent, though he usually manages to avoid them when anyone is looking. With his head tucked, Ianto pictures something pleasant. As much as he hates it, this always involves Jack; today it’s the morning after the first night Ianto stayed with Jack in the Hub, grateful that he was always the first in, and hoping that no one noticed that he was wearing yesterday’s clothes, his ears pink every time he thought about it. Jack looked at him differently from that morning on. It was no longer just shagging, it was _something_ , even if they never clarified exactly what. Picturing Jack’s smile and slow wink when Gwen commented on Ianto’s ‘new hairstyle’ , Ianto is able to block out everything else.

Once able to concentrate, Ianto notices something interesting about the table. There is shattered glass strewn across its surface, but in the middle of it, indeed perched precariously on one of the shards, is a delicate teacup and saucer. Ianto frowns. Someone must have been here since the invasion. Someone who drinks tea from antique Wedgwood jasperware amid chaos and destruction. His mind shifts to the woman from the CCTV footage, the one who planned this Cyber invasion.

Missy. The Master. She must have escaped the showdown with the Doctor, the one that sent most of the living-dead Cybermen into the sky to disperse the pollen cloud. Torchwood has very little intel on the event; there was no CCTV in the area, UNIT’s files are locked tight, and Torchwood Four doesn’t have anyone near Toshiko Sato’s skill level, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the Doctor was somehow involved in saving Earth (again), and that Missy must have been there when it happened. Ianto knows from Jack that there is a twisted push-and-pull between the Master and the Doctor. Time Lords change faces and personalities when they regenerate, but not their basic nature and motivations; the Master had been obsessed with the Doctor, and now Missy must be. The Master had been mentally unbalanced. Ruthless. Cruel. Brilliant. And if Missy is still on Earth, which the teacup suggests she is, they are all in terrible danger. 

As concerned as Ianto is, he wants _nothing_ to do with Missy. Someone will have to tip off UNIT somehow, and they’ll get the Doctor involved however they do. Possibly through Martha Jones. He doesn’t even know if she’s still with them, or even still alive; he hasn’t contacted _anyone_ from his former life. Not even his sister. As much as they tentatively reconnected during the crisis with the 456, there is simply no way for him to explain why he isn’t dead. Staying with Torchwood Four means he'll never be legally alive again, hence all the underground sneaking; being caught on CCTV and identified could be disastrous for Torchwood Four, and they have no intention of being the worst kept secret that bad been Torchwood Cardiff.  So Ianto stays away, not even checking up on them after he assured that his estate went to his sister as planned; he can’t visit, and seeing people from his old life would only be a painful reminder of everything he’s lost. Martha Jones, with her associated memories of Owen and the Doctor and red UNIT caps, is explicitly off-limits in Ianto’s mind.

So rather than follow Missy, which would be absolutely mental with no backup, he focuses on the Cybermen. Of the many brilliant things that Toshiko Sato taught Ianto, one of the most useful is _Always follow the infrastructure_. Roadways, computer hacks, utilities, org charts- A will _always_ connect to B if you trace it far enough. It’s that lesson he uses to figure out the next step. The amount of power needed to run those tanks is enormous, and the drained fluid had to go somewhere; the location of the connection to municipal power and sewer lines lead him directly to the source: the old Battersea Power Station, shut down in 1983. Except that somehow it’s producing electricity again. Without coal.

 

* * *

 

 

Another trip through the undercity brings him to his destination. The above-ground part of the power station may be iconic, but it’s just the smallest fraction of the operation. Most of it is underground. While travelling, Ianto brought up the blueprints on his PDA so he wouldn’t get lost, and now he’s navigating it as if he’s worked here for years, which is good, because if he gets lost it might take him days to find his way out.

The interior is in poor repair. In the years since its decommissioning, neglect has taken over, and the once-beautiful art deco flourishes are dingy and tarnished. The on-site offices where never properly cleared. Ianto’s fingers are itching to go through the dusty stacks of paper undisturbed on the desks. Curious, he slides open a drawer, pleased to find all the files neatly labeled, the papers tidy. They may have left things unfinished, but they managed their paperwork with admirable efficiency. The work areas are better, no tools left behind. The door hinges all squeak, the overhead lights flicker.

There’s no evidence of Cybermen, but the power must be going _somewhere_ , so he keeps looking. What he finds in the transformer room is nothing he could have imagined.

Coral. A huge piece of coral suspended and pulsing with light. He’s seen this before, too. Not the glowing or the floating, but this particular coral is very like the much smaller piece Jack always kept on his desk. He smiles fondly, surprised to feel a return of affection. Looking around, he sees no one. _Amusement._ Not his own. _Welcome_. From the coral? Is it sentient? He never felt anything from the piece on Jack’s desk, but then, that piece never did anything but look pretty. _Preening_. Yes, it’s definitely the coral and she’s pleased to see him. She? Ianto doesn't know why, but he can't help but think of her that way. He wonders if she knows anything about the Cybermen.

Torchwood One tested every employee for psychic talent and trained those who had the gift. Ianto had enough to register on the scale, but his low-level empathy was deemed not useful enough to Torchwood to warrant more than a few courses. He digs in his memory for everything he learned, closing his eyes and going through the beginning exercises.

It always starts with clearing his mind. Like an empty room or a blank page, they told him, but Ianto has never managed that- there’s just too much happening in his head. Instead, he pictures himself as a stone in a stream, unmoved as everything flows around him. Then he reaches his mind outward, feeling the currents and eddies. He’s still a stone, still keeps his boundaries and edges, but he’s aware. There’s another stone in the stream- he likes to keep with the metaphor he’s created- so he tentatively reaches out.  

He can feel her, and she knows him. She’s the same coral he once swept from the desktop to the floor in his hurry to get Jack undressed and spread across it. He shapes an apology in his thoughts and receives _amusement_. She wasn’t harmed, and she’s always enjoyed others’ happiness. Ianto can’t help the heat that rushes to his face; _happiness_ was not exactly what he felt when he had Jack spread out over the desk during working hours. Best that she couldn’t tell the difference. Now she’s amused by his embarrassment. There are no words, no images, just impressions. Ianto is curious. The coral is glad to have his company. She’s lonely, and he sympathizes. She’s frightened. Aching. Ianto would ask why if he could, but there’s no way, he can only fill his mind with support and the promise to help. The light intensifies; she expands, her edges stretched to bursting. She’s in agony. He’s pulled in, losing himself, the stone pulled from the riverbed and tumbled with the current. He’s ageless, time flows around him but he can’t touch it as he knows he should. He’s growing too fast, force-fed. He’s being used. He doesn’t want it, isn’t ready, but can’t do anything about it. He’s helpless, he’s angry, he refuses to give in to the hate he feels creeping across his skin. He cradles hope close. He has forever. This will end. He feels the past and the future, all of it, all at once.

Overwhelmed, the connection is broken. Ianto crumples to the floor.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jack is awake. He’s still restrained, but now he’s taped to a chair and seated at a table set for tea. He’s been conscious for a while, twenty minutes maybe, but steam still curls from the spout of the elaborate porcelain teapot. There’s cream in a matching creamer and a saucer stacked with sugar cubes, each with a candy violet piped on top. There are scones and cream and jam. He’s at a tea party. A  _mad_  tea party. Is he supposed to be trying to believe six impossible things? No, that’s not right, and anyway, he should be concentrating on getting loose. His bonds are tight, however. He can’t wiggle loose, the tape sticks fast; with the tiniest bit of give, he could peel the skin from his wrists and tear himself away, but wounds like that take time to heal and would leave a blood trail he’d rather avoid if there’s another option for escape. He’s looking around for anything that might help when he hears footsteps. Two sets. The Master’s voice rings out sharp and bright.

“Oh, I brought you a present! Look, it’s my very favourite way to break Jack Harkness.”

The first thing Jack registers is a man who resembles Ianto Jones to a startling degree. The second thing he notices is that the man is taped up just as he is, steered with one of the Master’s hands tight in the collar of his jumper and the other keeping him under control with Jack’s own Webley pressed into the small of his back. Just like Ianto, perfectly calm even when tied up, except, of course, when he was tied up for recreation. He was quite enthusiastic then. But this man isn’t Ianto. He’s older. Somewhat broader, too, but still, close enough to make Jack’s heart skip a beat. It’s a trick and he knows it, but he can’t stop the angry words before they’re out.

“You can’t use him against me. He’s dead.”

The Master grins wide and shark-like, her lips stretching blood-red over her too-white teeth. “Oh yes, once by my hand and once by yours. But look, we can do it  _again_! He’s the gift that keeps on giving!”

It hurts, but it’s not untrue. Not-Ianto hasn’t said a word. In fact, he’s been staring at Jack since he was brought in. Jack’s been staring back, too, starved for the sight of Ianto even knowing this is not him. Sparkling blue eyes: check. Lusciously curved kissable mouth: check. Appropriately generous bulge in his tight denim (Ianto dressed right, too): check. But jeans are all wrong and so is the aran jumper and the empty holster; Ianto had stashed his sidearm casually, as all of Torchwood Three had. And now that Jack looks, this man is more angular, his stance more confident and aggressive. A frosting of grey shines at his temples and the crown of his head. Tiny details. Wrong. No matter how much he looks like Ianto, no matter how much Jack misses his lover, he can’t be. Ianto Jones is dead; Jack held him while he faded away, saw him laid out, kissed his cold lips. The Master can’t use him to manipulate Jack again. She’s shoved the man into a chair across the table from Jack, keeping him docile with the Webley. His hands are already taped in front of him, and she proceeds to tape his ankles together and his hips and torso to the chair.

“You did your best, I suppose,” Jack is saying in a taunting voice, addressing the Master though he’s watching the other man closely. “He’s too old, and he should be wearing a suit. Sloppy form. You used to be better at this.”

The man speaks for the first time, beloved Welsh vowels teasing at Jack’s resolve. “It’s been five years, Jack,” he snaps, “Not all of us are eternally un-aging. Given how much you obsessed about my mortality, I’d think you’d remember THAT!”

Gods, even the accent is right, though the voice is a little rougher than he remembers. Jack closes his eyes, wanting nothing more than to listen, to pretend, but he’s furious. How _dare_  this man, this imposter? Jack suddenly can’t bear the sound of the man’s voice. “You shut your fucking mouth. You have no right to impersonate the man I loved.”

 “Love? You couldn’t even call us a couple; even when I was dying you couldn't say it to me, why should I believe you. You don't love me, never did."

He’s been coached, then, to use Jack’s guilt against him. And gods, the guilt. Having refused to say it before, he can’t hold it back now. He owes Ianto’s memory that much.

“I loved  _him_!”

“Don’t.” The tone is sharp, the word crisp and clipped. 

It’s like being kicked in the gut. This is what finally convinces him. As easy as it would be for the Master to coach a suitably convincing doppelganger how to emulate him, only Ianto himself would know exactly how to flay Jack’s soul bare with a single word. It’s  _him_. Somehow, impossibly, Ianto Jones is being held captive across a tea table in the Master’s underground lair five years after dying in Jack’s arms. The slight greying is starting to make sense now. 

“Ianto?”

“I see you’re finally catching up, sir,” Ianto responds dryly, underscoring that this  _is_  Ianto.

The Master looks positively gleeful. She uses Jack’s stunned inattention to yank the tape holding his arms to the chair and retape them together in front of him. The duct tape adhesive burns where the removal pulled up skin, leaving his wrist raw, but Jack barely notices. Ianto. Somehow, impossibly, Ianto Jones is alive and in front of him. And the Master has them both. It’s Jack’s fondest dream and his worst nightmare.

The Master prattles on. “I went easy on you last time, my Jack. Last time I had the Doctor and world domination to distract me, but now it’s just you and me. And  _him_ , of course. Brave Mr. Jones, who always comes for you, ever willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. So clever, yet so  _stupid_. You’re not worth it, Jack Harkness. Not worthy of him.”

It cuts deep. She’s right, Jack has never deserved Ianto. Jack denied what they had at every turn, but he needed the man, still needs him. Will always need him. Jack won’t squander this opportunity to make things right with Ianto, even if there’s no hope of rekindling their relationship.

The Master continues, “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted. I want you to know  _exactly_  what you’ll be losing. Such fun! Behave, children.” She runs her fingers through Ianto’s hair, then yanks it savagely, leaning down to breathe low words into his ear, barely loud enough for Jack to overhear. “I’m going to kill you. Enjoy your tea.” Then she swishes away.

Jack and Ianto stare uncomfortably for a while. Jack has so much he wants to say, but doesn’t know where to begin. Without breaking the silence, Ianto struggles to his feet, hunched over with the chair riding on his back, to prepare two cups of tea with his bound hands. Cream first, then tea, then two cubes of sugar, which dissolve instantly, leaving the icing violets floating on top. He thoughtfully balances a scone on the edge of one saucer and passes it across the table to Jack, who takes it much less gracefully than it was prepared.

Ianto’s hands have always been a marvel. Whether holding a gun or stroking Jack to completion (he allows himself a few seconds to revel in this memory), they are steady and sure. He can cradle the dandelion puff of a Teraxian without damaging it or hold a Weevil securely as he walks it to the cells. Jack could watch Ianto’s hands all day, and after five years of thinking him lost, Jack drinks in the sight of him raising a teacup to his lips and sipping delicately. Ianto’s mouth is a marvel, too, but if Jack lets himself think on that too long they’ll run out of time.

Nibbling on a scone, Ianto finally speaks. “I thought you left Earth.”

“I thought you were  _dead_!” Jack says, biting off a hysterical laugh

Ianto had the grace to look abashed. “Yes, well…”

“How?”

“It’s complicated. I  _was_  dead, but it suffices to say that Cyber technology isn’t all bad, and Torchwood Four isn’t nearly as lost as we thought.”

Of all the possibilities, all the ways Jack had imagined Ianto coming back to him- time travel, vaccinations, cloning, his own immortality transferred, even fairies- this is one he’s never considered. He’s starting to ask questions when Ianto reminds him that they need to be planning an escape.

OK, he’s right. As desperately curious as Jack is, they don’t have time for this. “Work to do?” Jack asks, remembering all the times Ianto said it to him. Ianto grins. Jack’s heart beats fast at this sign that there’s hope that things will be all right between them. Eventually. “Right, then. First we need to get free, then we need to figure out what the hell is going on. The Master-“

“Missy,” corrects Ianto.

“No, the Master,” Jack insists. “Not Missy, always the Master.”

Ianto looks at him incredulously, saying, “You’d give those memories of him that much power?”

“I can’t afford to lose sight of who’s in there. You of all people should understand, after Lisa.”

He watches as understanding dawns. Ianto always called her Lisa, even when speaking of the Cyberman she became. She has never been a monster to him, never a  _thing_ , even when she wasn’t herself anymore. He won’t allow himself to forget how it all happened, what he lost. Ianto nods.

Jack is still reeling. The entire situation is surreal. Ianto. The Master. Cybermen. Tea cups. Duct tape. Ianto. “I can’t believe you’re here. Alive,” Jack says.

“You do believe it’s me, though? At first you thought I was an imposter. Why?”

“She’s done it before.” He never told Ianto this part about his time on the Valiant, how the Master put a bounty on men who looked like Ianto, then promised to reward them if they could convince Jack to believe in them. When they failed, they were killed. Brutally. In front of him. One after another, until he brought in the  _real_  Ianto Jones. Jack recognized him immediately. He begged, screamed until his throat was bloody, and promised everything he could think of for Ianto to be spared, and the Master allowed it for a time. Even now, Jack refuses to share what happened when the Master decided there was no more reason to keep Ianto. So when the Master brought in a man who looked like Ianto, it had been a familiar game.

“How would she have found someone so quickly? You can’t have been down here more than a day or two.”

“A few hours, actually. Maybe more, but she read my mind early on, and I know better than to doubt her ingenuity.”

Ianto purses his lips. It’s a far cry from the old eye-roll, but it warms Jack’s heart. “And still you came down here alone. Jack, you really need to stop rushing into things.”

“What makes you think I came down here alone? For all you know, I have a team about to rescue us with laser blasters and theme music. UNIT could be staging an invasion at this very moment with Kate Stewart at the lead,” Jack says, knowing it’s a weak argument.

And there’s the eye roll Jack’s missed so much. “One, I know you better than that. And two, Kate doesn’t lead missions. She’s more a behind-the-scenes mastermind. Fine woman. Very organized.”

Jealousy flares. Jack suppresses it ruthlessly. He tells himself Ianto wouldn’t have an affair with someone Kate Stewart’s age, ignoring the fact that Ianto has a history of older lovers.  _Much_  older. 

“Fine. You’re right. I rushed in without looking, and now I’m taped to a chair. And so are you. Do  _you_ have the cavalry coming?”

“Fine,” Ianto huffs. He’s quiet now, drinking his tea. He finishes it and fixes another cup. He offers one to Jack too, but Jack hasn’t finished his first. It’s cooling on the table, the sugar violet melted into a swirl of colour.

“And why are we sitting here having tea? Shouldn’t we be trying to get free?” asks Jack.

Ianto quirks a slight smile. “I haven’t had caffeine in approximately six hours. Can’t save the world without it.” He raises his teacup in a mocking toast. “Cheers.” Then he drains it. “Right, then. Duct tape is harder than rope or cuffs.”

Jack has a solution. He knows Ianto will hate it, so he doesn’t say anything, just starts rocking and hopping his chair over to the railing overlooking the generators. Ianto is staring at him in confusion until-

“Jack, NO!”

It’s too late. Jack has pulled himself up over the railing and is plummeting to the floor below. There’s an instant of pain when he hits the ground, then nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

Ianto doesn’t know what’s happening until it’s too late and Jack is throwing himself over the railing. Ianto’s teacup shatters on the floor as he hops himself, still secured to the chair, over to see Jack lying in a pool of blood, broken on the floor three stories below. The chair is in splinters, which was Jack’s intent. Ianto hates it, has always hated seeing Jack die, but it was the most expedient answer. Now there’s nothing to do but wait, watching until Jack revives.

It always seems to take forever, but it’s only a few minutes until Jack’s broken bones start to rejoin and straighten, until his neck aligns and the collapsed side of his skull fills out. Soon he gasps back to life, flailing as Ianto hasn’t seen since Jack first came back from his time with the Doctor, back before he got used to having Ianto there when he revived. The tape is still tight around Jack’s wrists, and his torso and ankles are still attached to what’s left of the chair, but he’s mobile. They could have wasted time trying to pick or cut their way out of the tape, but Jack has accomplished it in moments, and while his wrists are still bound, he’s now able to move about, which will make things easier. He stretches as well as he can, the snaps and pops of his final alignment echoing softly in the cavernous space.

“I’ll be right up,” Jack calls as he rushes to the staircase that will bring him back to the control center, the clanging of his boots on the metal risers reminding Ianto of the Hub. While he climbs, he starts to tug at the tape securing the chair back to his midsection.

“Don’t bother,” Ianto calls. “Porcelain is sharp enough, just break a saucer.” He resists the urge to tell Jack that they could have  _started_  with this tactic, though it would have taken longer and they’d likely have cut themselves in the process.

It works beautifully. Jack hands Ianto a shard of Flora Danica and works his wrists free on it, then turns his attention to freeing Ianto.

Jack is bent over trying to cut the tape off Ianto’s ankles without leaving him bleeding, which puts his face right in Ianto’s groin, and he’s… sniffing? When he looks up, his pupils have gone wide. Even in a crisis, Jack can’t seem to keep his libido in check.

“God damn it, Jack! Get your head in the game. I swear to you, when we get through this and save the world, you can bend me over anything you like and shag me into oblivion, but for now, fucking  _concentrate on the task at hand_!”

Ianto snorts at how quickly Jack finishes cutting him loose after that. He hadn’t meant to proposition Jack, he’s still not sure how he feels about the man, but there’s no denying that it was an effective tactic. Once they’re both free, attention is turned to the business of reconnaissance. Jack wants to stay and fight, of course, but Ianto manages to convince him that going after Missy with just the two of them is likely to get Ianto killed. Again. They need to gather all the intel they can, then get out.

“I need to show you something,” Ianto says. Jack needs to see the coral. Whatever Missy is doing, and Ianto can’t imagine what that might be, it must have something to do with the coral. Having memorized the floor plan, Ianto knows how to get back to that room, so he leads Jack through the corridors, pointing out the working parts and the safety features along the way.

“How do you  _know_  this?” Jack wants to know.

It’s an old game of theirs, so Ianto answers in the traditional way, “I know everything.” He pauses for effect, then continues. “Also, I did a report on the Uskmouth plant in Newport when I was in primary. They’re very similar. The turbines are over there, that’s what turns the generator. Steam powered. In this day and age, we’re still using steam to make electricity. Even in nuclear plants, it’s all about steam. I was so disappointed as a child; I was hoping for something modern and shiny.”

“Except that there’s no steam. No heat at all anywhere I’ve been, yet I can hear the turbines running. What’s powering the station?”

“I think we should find out. Let’s go take a look at the turbines.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Jack is down. Not dead this time, not even unconscious, but not  _there_. Having had his own panic attack earlier in the day, Ianto is intimately acquainted with the signs. Jack’s face is pale, his eyes glassy. His breath comes shallow and quick, and he’s backed himself against a wall, shivering.

Ianto isn’t sure what triggered Jack, just that they’d been looking into the turbine chamber when Jack saw a sphere and started backing away from the glass. At the same moment, the sphere opened up somehow and  _giggled_ , swooping toward them.

“Pretty Jack, come to play? We’ve missed you, pretty Jack. What have you brought us? You know how we like your friends, pretty Jack!”

The turbines, previously a low, rumbling hum, sped up to an alarming whine, and then  _CHUNK!_  stopped abruptly. Thick steel doors slammed down over the viewing windows, and Ianto could hear the clicking of locks engaging. The lights went out, then backups came on.

The station is in safety lockdown. They’re stuck until the system resets, and Jack is currently curled up in the corner, white as snow, shivering and crying softly.

“Jack,” Ianto says softly, kneeling next to the man. “Jack, it’s me. Ianto. Everything is all right, you’re safe.” Jack doesn’t respond, but doesn’t resist as Ianto sits next to him and pulls Jack’s head into his lap, stroking his hair gently. “Come on, Jack, talk to me. You wanted answers. We have time now, just come back.”

“Ianto?” Jack whispers. “I had the most wonderful dream you were real. Then it turned into a nightmare like always, but first I dreamed I got you back. And I’m dreaming again, I suppose, but I don’t mind.”

“I’m real. I assure you.”

“That’s what you always say just before I wake up.”

How is Ianto supposed to counter that, he wonders. “Don’t be daft. If this were coming out of your subconscious we’d be naked by now.”

Jack is becoming more lucid. As his eyes clear and focus, he sits up, leaning against the wall without breaking contact with Ianto.

“I suppose you’re right. So…you’re alive? Really, truly alive? You said something about Cybermen, before.”

So Ianto tells him. Tells him the whole story, from waking up in Torchwood Four to taking over the Retrievals team. From his fears about the Cyber implant to his conflict about leaving his old life behind.

He never contacted his family, only tracking them via their accounts to make certain they were all right. They had received his estate and death benefit- they must have been shocked at the amount, having believed him to be a tourism employee- and used it to move off the estate, to send David and Mica to a better school. He’s manipulated data to get Johnny a better job, and Rhi is taking accounting classes at night. Ianto’s ‘death’ may have been the best thing that ever happened to them, as Ianto recounts to Jack. Everything else, Ianto abandoned. His flat, his hidden accounts, his secure logins to government websites, all left untouched. In five years, he’s not so much as set foot in Cardiff. He never even visited Gwen, the one person who might have accepted his resurrection, in order to keep Torchwood Four a secret.

He leaves nothing out; they have hours before the drive shaft on the turbine cools off enough for things to start up again. Jack starts to steer the conversation toward Ianto’s personal life. He thinks he’s being subtle, but that’s never been one of Jack’s strengths.

“If you want to know, just ask,” Ianto finally says, exasperated.

Jack purses his lips. He waits, as if considering whether he really wants the answer. Finally, he decides. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“ _That’s_  your question? The missing branch of Torchwood brought me back to life using the technology you almost shot me for bringing onto your base, and you want to know about my  _sex life_? Fine. No. I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

“But you were?” Jack seems insecure first, then upset. “Did you even think about contacting me? I missed you so much, Ianto, and you were off with someone else!”

Now Ianto’s angry in that irrational way he always is when he knows he’s in the wrong. No, he never tried to contact Jack. He could have. He knows Jack came back a few times, yet Ianto didn’t even try. To reach out to Jack was to face rejection. He lashes out with, “And how long before  _you_  moved on? Was I even cold before you started shagging some alien like you always did in your stories? You never wanted to be a couple, were you glad to be free of me?”

Jack looks at him sadly. “It was three years before I slept with anyone.”

Oh. Ianto hadn’t waited nearly that long. “You said ‘don’t’,” Ianto accuses. Jack is watching him now, eyes full of sorrow and regret. Ianto keeps going, he has to get it all out before he loses his nerve.  “I was dying, I told you I loved you, and you said  _don’t_ , like I was breaking some unspoken Jack Harkness rule. Like I wasn’t allowed to claim even that much of you. That’s what I took into the dark with me. What was I supposed to think? You refused to clarify our relationship, told stories of your other conquests, flirted with everything that moved and some things that didn’t, and then, as I was dying in your arms, couldn’t even tell me that you loved me back. Why didn’t I try to contact you? You’d already broken my heart. I didn’t know if they could restart it again.” 

“I’m sorry.” He squeezes Ianto’s hand. “I’ve spent five years regretting that. Every day I wished I could take it back.” His thumb is stroking Ianto’s knuckles now, more soothing than it should be. “I didn’t mean it like that. I couldn’t bear to lose you, couldn’t admit that you weren’t going to make it.”

They’re talking about it. Finally talking about it, as Ianto had imagined so many times when he replayed the moment in his head. “I never thought I was enough for you. Most of the time you treated me as a convenient distraction- ‘Pizza, Ianto, save the world a FEW times’- what was I supposed to think?”

“I didn’t know you heard that.”

“So it was all right to imply to  _Gwen_ , of all people, that I was nothing more than something to do while she was away as long as I never knew about it? It was OK to give her whatever she wanted, to share longing looks, as long as you did it behind closed doors? I knew everything that ever happened in the Hub, Jack! There were no secrets!” Ianto can’t seem to stop. It’s been building up for five years. Longer, actually. Before he died, he’d not said anything, afraid to lose what little of Jack’s affections he could claim. Now, though, now he has nothing to lose but his anger. It all comes out, every time Jack denied their relationship to someone, every time he refused to define what they were, every time Jack pushed Ianto away because he was focused on someone else.  _Finally_ , Ianto tells him how he died inside every time.

Jack looks stricken. “I didn’t know,” he repeats. “God, Ianto, I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting?”

“And risk you pushing me away? You were the only thing I had. It was better not knowing how little I meant than to ask and find out the truth.”

“And then when you finally risked it, dying, I hurt you.” Jack takes a deep breath, turning to take Ianto’s hand.  “I fucked up. I fucked up so much. I can’t- Can you forgive me? For not giving you what you deserved, for not making sure you knew how much I cared?”

“I’m… not sure,” Ianto says, pulling his hand away. Maybe once he wouldn’t have hesitated. Once he would have jumped at anything Jack offered. Back then, he’d have forgiven Jack in an instant, but he’s not that man anymore. He’s been dreaming of Jack, missing Jack, for five years, but he’s learned to be alone. He values himself and his hard-won self-assurance too much to blindly accept less than he deserves. If he’s ever with Jack again, it will be as his equal, nothing less.

“You hurt me, Jack. Carelessly and repeatedly. I can’t do that again. I’m worth more than that.”

“You are.”

“And when I die again? I will, you know. Whether today when this all goes tits-up, or when I’m old and grey-“

“You’re already grey,” Jack points out, reaching out to ruffle Ianto’s hair. Ianto resists the temptation to lean into Jack’s touch.

“Yes. I’m aging. That’s the reality. I don’t look like your twink anymore. In a decade I’ll look older than you. How long will you want me? If I live long enough, people will think you’re my son. Can you handle that? Will you stay? Because I’m not going to waste what life I have on you if you’re going to disappear when I stop being pretty. If you don’t actually love me, then there will never be anything between us again.” There it is, all laid out. He was afraid of rejection before, but he’s stronger now, in this at least. 

Jack is quiet. Ianto starts to wonder if this is where it ends, for real and for good. He’s not afraid of it now. He’ll be sad, but his life will go on, and someday maybe he’ll be able to put Jack out of his mind. He’s still young; maybe he’ll take Torchwood up on their offer of resettling. He’ll go somewhere he’s never been, maybe find someone who wants to settle down, start a family.

Still nothing from Jack. Before, Ianto would have have walked away, made assumptions, let Jack get away with not talking, not defining anything. He’s not willing to do that anymore.

“Answer me, Jack. When I die this time, will you say ‘Don’t’ again? Will you even be there?”

Jack hasn’t said anything in so long that Ianto’s not sure if he’s listening at all. This entire exchange has been conducted without looking at each other, staring at the wall across the room with its faded safety diagrams and reminder to turn off the lights when they leave the room. He sneaks a look to the side. Jack’s eyes are closed, his cheeks wet with tears.

When Jack speaks, his voice is ragged. “I love you, Ianto. I loved you then, but I was a coward. I’d have given anything to save you; I tried, you know. Tried to kiss you back to life like I did after Lisa threw you.”

“You what?” Ianto remembers being thrown, remembers returning to consciousness with Jack’s mouth on his, but he couldn’t have been-

“Kissed you back to life. You were dead then. Not breathing, no heartbeat. I kissed you, poured all my excess life into you, and you came back. I thought I could do it again, that there was no need for deathbed confessions when we could be together properly. Only I couldn’t. I was dying too, without enough life to give away.”

“I’m sorry,” Ianto says.

“For what?”

“Dying like that.”

Jack throws an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “Just don’t do it again.” Jack kisses the top of Ianto’s head; Ianto nuzzles against Jack’s neck. He can’t forgive Jack yet, but at least now he wants to.

“Won’t.” he whispers, hoping it’s true, at least for a little while. “What now? Suppose I forgive you? You haven’t answered any of my questions.”

“I have some questions too. Things changed for me; I’m different now.”

Despite their situation, their unsettled relationship, Jack’s hand is creeping its way past Ianto’s waistband. “Not  _that_  different,” Ianto says with a smirk and a pointed look down.

“No, I suppose not.”

They sit like that, nestled together like they used to at the Hub after a rough day, not talking, just taking comfort in each other’s presence, until Ianto thinks Jack has enough detachment to ask, “So what is that thing in the turbine room? Why did it trigger the lockdown?” He’s not going to mention Jack’s panic attack. He’s  _not_.

Jack goes very still. “Toclafane. Remember those things I told you about, come from the end of the universe to kill us all? Those were Toclafane, and one of them is in there. It’s a paradox, somehow outside of the year we reset.”

Ianto asks what that means and Jack explains that during the year he was gone, the Doctor's Tardis had been gutted, mutilated and rebuilt as a paradox machine so that the Toclafane, who were future humans, were able to come into the past and kill their ancestors. Without that buffer, the resulting paradox would have ripped the universe apart. The destruction of the paradox machine reset the timeline to a point before the Master’s creations came through. They never existed here. The Toclafane in the turbine room had somehow been pulled away from that paradox and is now a refugee from an alternate timeline, forcing the two realities to coexist- almost a mini-paradox.

This is the Master’s energy source. While the effect of a single Toclafane isn’t as dramatic as the paradox of the year that was reset, the non-thermal expansion of two realities repelling each other is more than enough to power the station. But when Jack, who was a part of both timelines, arrived, the paradox, and thus the pressure, increased, spinning the turbines faster and faster.

Ianto doesn’t really understand the cause, but the effect is clear. “It must have started overloading the generator. The turbines locked, the blast doors shut to keep the increasing pressure from blowing the windows, and interior doors locked just in case that wasn’t enough to keep the turbine room from exploding.”

“That from your primary school report?”

Ianto elbows Jack in the ribs. “That’s from a passing knowledge of mechanics, gained in the last year from taking mechanical things apart. The Cybermen aren’t steam powered, but there’s a generator in there. There’s a team studying how to overload it, but so far we haven’t figured anything out.”

“I still can’t believe you’re alive because of Cybermen.”

“Ironic, yeah? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the idea.” Ianto says. He’s had five years, after all, and he still goes cold thinking about it. When he asked about possible removal, the medical team was willing to try, but informed him that he risked brain damage. Ianto left it alone, and is still trying to make peace with it.

Jack’s hand settles on Ianto’s thigh. Just resting, not groping or roaming. “I’m glad it happened, though.”

“Me too.”

Ianto still doesn’t know where they will go from here, but for now he’s comfortable sitting quietly with Jack. They’ve both said what they need to say, and now it’s time to let it sink in. There will be time later to decide if they have a future together. Right now there’s work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually only half of what I intended for this chapter, but I was having trouble with the second part, and a natural break point presented itself. So off it went to Gmariam, who made brilliant suggestions and accidentally made me dislike a paragraph enough that I wanted to rewrite it, but couldn’t figure out how. Cue the indecision and avoidance. The chapter split was originally intended to get this to you faster, and totally didn’t at all.


	6. Chapter 6

** CHAPTER SIX **

 

The safety lockdown is lifted, and Ianto is once again leading Jack through the winding halls of the station. They’ve figured out where the electricity is coming from; now Ianto wants to show Jack where it’s going.

“Remember the coral on your desk? Look in here,” he says as he opens the door to the transformer room. There, as before, is the coral floating in front of the transformer, which is covered with shiny bits and wires, boxes and things that go  _ping_. She’s still glowing, and seems to have grown since he last saw her. Ianto can feel her welcome and pleasure at seeing Jack.

“That’s my coral?” Jack’s voice is full of wonder. “It’s huge!”

“She wasn’t that big when I was in here before. She’s growing,” Ianto says with pride.

“That’s where the Vortex energy is going!” Jack says excitedly. He explains how he came to find the Battersea plant in an area drained of Vortex energy. “The Master is somehow using the power to force Vortex energy into the coral to make it grow. Ianto, that coral is the start of a Tardis. I’ve no idea how she got it, or how she figured out how to feed it, but the Master is growing a Tardis! Shit, we’ve got to stop her! The Master with a Tardis of her own- “

“Well it’s hurting her!” snaps Ianto without meaning to. He’s feeling her discomfort, like being stretched until his skin might burst. “She’s frightened. She wants to go home, though I can’t tell if she means your desk or someplace else.”

“You can tell that? She’s awake already? She talks to you?”

“Not talk, exactly, but I can feel her in my head. We need to get her out of here, Jack. Not only to keep Missy from having a Tardis, but for her sake.” Ianto knows what a Tardis is and what it can do from having worked at Torchwood One, where the Doctor was Enemy Number One. He knows from Jack what happened the last time the Master had his hands on the Doctor’s. He can’t let that happen.

“We will. I just haven’t figured out how yet.”

“Can we have an actual plan this time, please? One with contingencies and realistic expectations? This rushing in without thinking may be okay for you, but it gets me killed.” Shit. Thoughtless, and his remark has hit Jack hard.

“I’m  _sorry_. I’ve been sorry for five years. I’ll be sorry for the rest of eternity. I can’t undo it, not any of it. It broke me. And do you know what happened the next day?

Ianto knows. He asked about the 456 when Torchwood Four brought him back, and Director Nguyen showed him all the files they’d found, including what happened in the warehouse, what Jack had to do. Steven. And here’s Ianto poking at Jack like it’s nothing. He feels terrible. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No. But you’re right, it was my fault. My fault the aliens were here, my fault Torchwood was targeted, and my fault you were in that building. So yes, a plan.”

“With contingencies.”

“And reasonable expectations. And no pointless heroic deaths.”

“It will be a nice change. Any ideas?”

“We could call UNIT?”

Jack sounds as uncertain as Ianto feels. UNIT has the resources for a frontal assault, but that may not be the best scenario here. The coral could be damaged in the cross-fire, and Ianto is really feeling quite protective of her. Besides-

“They can’t know about me, Jack. Not about Torchwood 4 or the Boot Chip. I’d have to go, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone with them.”

 “They can contact the Doctor, send her with him.”

“NO!”

Now Jack is looking at him strangely. “The Doctor  _has_  a Tardis,” Ianto tries to explain, but no, that’s not really the problem. “They don’t belong together, not like that. They don’t  _fit_. She’s too young for the sort of danger he’d get her into. And UNIT, they’d want to study her. Take her apart. You know how that feels.”

That seems to make an impression. “What about Gwen?” Jack asks.

“What about her? Last I knew, she was in Cardiff living a decidedly cozy domestic life. What use would she be to us? And what would getting pulled back in do to her?”

“Good point. What about your Torchwood? If you can handle Cybermen, rescuing a baby Tardis shouldn’t be a problem, and you’d be able to keep watch over what happens to her.”

Even this makes Ianto bristle, and he doesn’t know why. “Can’t we do it ourselves? Not tell anyone about her?”

"I don't think we can. She’s already too big to carry, and this mess of wires is going to need a specialist. I don’t suppose any of this looks familiar to you? From your tour?”

“I was eleven, Jack! They didn’t teach me how rewire the bloody place!”

While Jack looks at the transformer panel, Ianto moves to inspect the interface between the system and the coral to see if there’s an obvious way to disconnect it. Nothing makes sense, and he’s starting to feel uneasy. Like the clock is ticking. Like any minute everything is going to go to hell. Jack’s hesitancy isn’t making him feel any better. “Do you think anything will explode if we start yanking random wires?” he asks.

Jack looks at him dubiously. “I thought you wanted a plan?”

The pressure in his mind is increasing. “I changed my mind! I want to get her safe. Quickly. Please, do something quickly!”

It’s too late. The door, which Ianto realizes they haven’t been watching, slams shut with the solid  _thwump_  of industrial steel. His heart sinks. They weren’t fast enough, and now Missy has them all. There she stands with her back to the closed door aiming a gun directly at Ianto. His own this time; apparently she’s abandoned the symbolism of Jack’s Webley for the greater penetration and rate of fire of Ianto’s HK45C.

Jack stops talking mid-sentence. Dread settles over Ianto. Missy speaks, her patronizing tone scraping Ianto’s nerves raw.

“Oh, well done, Jack! I was afraid you wouldn’t come, and when you triggered the lockdown I thought maybe I should have marched you down here myself instead of letting you get yourselves loose, but I  _knew_  loyal Mr. Jones wouldn’t leave my little one behind. So now you’re both exactly where I need you to be: Jack near the transformer, Jones in line for a bullet if you don’t do exactly what I say.”

Suddenly Ianto sees it. What she wants from Jack. Her plan. “Vortex energy,” he breathes.

“Clever Mr. Jones! This trickle I can glean from London is nothing compared to what Jack contains. With him hooked to the transformer, I can advance my time table by  _days_.”

She’s wanting to rip the Vortex out of Jack and force feed it to his coral, a process that will surely be excruciating to them both. And what will happen to Jack? He once explained to Ianto that the Vortex energy that keeps him alive is an endless source, but what if it’s drained in that critical instant when Jack dies? Siphoned away? Will it still revive him when it returns, or will that be the end, a permanent death?

She’s walking slowly toward Ianto with her eyes trained on Jack, who is clearly wanting to charge at her, but not willing to risk Ianto. Missy sees it too. “Don’t do it, Jack. I’ll shoot him, you know I will. You’ve watched him die twice, and you’ll do whatever I say not to lose him again.”

“And what’s to say you won’t kill him as soon as I’ve done what you want?”

“Oh, I probably will, eventually. Maybe I’ll keep him around for a while, though. I’ve taken quite a liking to your Mr. Jones. We’re very much alike, you see. No self-preservation. Willingness to do anything for those we love. Incredible fashion sense.”

In the midst of it all,  _that_  is the thing that pisses him off. “I’m not his, you know,” snaps Ianto. “I’m not a pet. I’m my own man, and I’m nothing like you. ”

Missy spares him a glance full of something like pity. “Oh, you poor dear. I know a thing or two about obsessive devotion, and trust me on this, you  _belong_  to him and he belongs to you. There’s no point in fighting it, it will only drive you to madness.”

Ianto takes a step forward, stopping when he sees the telltale tightening of Missy’s wrist that indicates that she’s ready to fire. He pauses. She relaxes only slightly. He’s not going to be able to disarm her, then. He has two options: die in an attempt to distract her enough for Jack to escape, or wait and see. A warm pressure in the back of his mind soothes him, urges him to wait, tells him it will be all right. Ianto chooses to trust it.

Missy moves slowly forward until the barrel of Ianto’s gun is pressed firmly against his forehead.

“Go on, Jack,” she urges, “I’ve rewired the transformer for you. Put one hand on the shiny plate, then grab the wire by the thing that goes  _ping_. I put that in just for you, you know.  _PING!_  You’ll die quickly, more’s the pity, but it will work even when you’re dead, drawing out every bit of Vortex that tries to revive you. Then I’ll take Mr. Jones, and we’ll go find the Doctor and whoever he’s distracting himself with these days.”

Jack hesitates. “Don’t hurt him,” he begs. “I’ll do what you want, just… don’t hurt him.”

"Jack, you can’t! You won’t come back!”

Jack purses his lips. “I have to. I can’t let you die again. Not if I can save you.”

“Oh, Jack. Poor Jack.” She pushes the barrel hard and  _twists._  “I’ll treat him better than you did. I promise.”

Ianto wants to call out. He wants to tell Jack not to do it, that he doesn’t mind dying if it will save Jack and the young Tardis, but he’s held firm. He can’t move, can’t speak as he watches Jack place his hand where Missy indicated. Her hand is shaking with excitement, the gun vibrating against his skull.

“Now the  _ping_. Don’t forget the  _ping_.“

Jack takes the wire. The room goes dark, the station’s entire output diverted through Jack, to feeding the coral. Jack’s body is alight with it, rigid with eyes rolled back. There’s the sharp smell of electricity in the air. Jack’s skin cracks under the strain; purple light emanates from him, matching the bright pulsing of the coral as she absorbs the Vortex.

The reassuring presence in Ianto's mind turns to a spike of agony, and he’s drowning in it. He feels himself surrounded, pulled away from Missy and Jack and everything in the world. He loses himself in it. He’s expanding to fast to be contained; the atmosphere is trying to restrain him. It burns. His skin is molten. Stretching. Tearing. His insides balloon out. He is transforming, and there’s nothing he can do to escape the pain. Light blinds him, the rushing roar deafens. All senses overloading, he can taste the Vortex, smell the universe. What’s left of Ianto tries to picture the stone in the stream, but it’s ripped away like a pebble in a flow of lava, melting and absorbed by the current. He’s subsumed, no longer himself, but a part of something more. They slam their door shut (when did Ianto grow a door?) The last pieces of Ianto retreat, until suddenly-

* * *

 

 

The pain is gone, reduced only to a throbbing ache Ianto can feel in every cell. He’s himself again, all parts in their correct place (no door), and he’s in a glowing chamber with indistinct boundaries. It’s oddly silent, enough that he can hear the rushing of blood in his ears. He’s in the new Tardis; she has saved him, claimed him, grown herself around him. He feels her rumbling her approval, promising him safety, offering her help and companionship.

“Right then,” he says into the silence. “Defeat Missy, save Jack, and get us out of here. And some coffee wouldn’t go amiss.”

It all seems more manageable now. He doesn’t need to call UNIT or anyone else, he has exactly what he needs to do what needs to be done. He pictures the transformer room, estimates the size, wills his Tardis to become something new, knowing she’ll understand. Everything shifts and changes. There’s a loud  _thump_  from outside. It’s worked. Ianto imagines a door and one appears, a large steel cog bearing the stamp ‘ _Made in Wales_ ’. Ianto chuckles as it rolls open.

The outside of the Tardis is not at all what Ianto expected. Instead of a larger police box or a vehicle, or  _anything at all that makes sense_ , she’s chosen to become a small, rundown farmhouse. He doesn’t understand until he sees Missy’s feet sticking out from under the edge. He steps over them, smiling a bit at her ridiculous striped socks and restraining the urge to steal her lace-up boots. Jack is lying in the corner, dead but only slightly singed around the edges. He’s healing, then, and he’ll be back. Ianto sighs in relief. He drags Jack back into the house/Tardis, ignoring Missy for the moment. She won’t be going anywhere until the Tardis moves.

It’s changed inside. No longer an amorphous space, the Tardis has created him a control room of polished wood and gleaming brass, with a centre console covered in levers and dials, gauges and nozzles. Ianto smiles fondly; it’s clearly based on his beloved espresso machine. It’s beautiful. There’s a nook tucked in the side with pillows and blankets, so that’s where Ianto takes Jack, cradling him close while he heals. His burns are closing over, his skin is smoothing out, his hair starting to regrow.

Everything is different now. Somehow _more_ than it was, yet Ianto knows the change is within himself. Ianto can feel it, the flow of time around him. He can feel Jack pulsing bright like a beacon. The Doctor called him wrong, but Ianto thinks him beautiful. Steady and eternal. Comforting. He settles Jack against his chest as he always had while waiting and ruffles his hair, touches his lips. It’s taking longer than usual for Jack to revive, but Ianto can be patient; minutes- even hours- seem inconsequential. They’re safe in here in Ianto’s Tardis.

While he waits, he thinks. It’s going to be awkward. Ianto can never again doubt the depth of Jack’s feelings for him; whether they can put the past aside or not, it’s clear now that Jack loves Ianto. That doesn’t make it  _easy_. Because while Ianto loves Jack too, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, there’s a lot of history. They have a lot to work though before they can be what they were. No, not what they were, something new. The dynamic has changed.  Jack isn’t Ianto’s boss anymore, and Ianto isn’t a young man who needs to be lead and protected. But they  _will_  be together. Ianto can now see that he’s incomplete without Jack.

When Jack comes to slowly, quietly, Ianto can feel that too. He knows the instant Jack’s heart starts beating, when the rush of Vortex retreats as if pleased at a job well done.

Jack remembers him this time. He looks up at Ianto adoringly. “You’re safe,” he whispers.

“Yeah.”

When Ianto helps Jack to his feet, Jack tries to kiss him. Ianto pulls away. There’s an awkward conversation they need to have before things go any further.

"We need to talk," he says, knowing it’s the most cliché opening ever, but not knowing any other way. Maybe that’s why it’s a cliché.

Jack’s shoulders hunch in defeat. “I know. I’ll leave.”

“What? That’s not-“

“Isn’t it? It’s too dangerous for you to be around me. I’ve gotten you killed twice. Three times almost. I don’t think I could bear it again. I was so glad to have you back that I forgot what being around me does to people, then I saw the Master aiming a gun at you and-“

Jack is babbling now. As much as Ianto wanted to sort things emotionally before anything physical, sometimes kissing Jack is the only way to get him to shut up.

It does. The problem is that once he’s started, Ianto doesn’t want to stop. Jack’s lips are every bit as soft as he remembered, every bit as demanding. It’s a bad idea and he knows it. He pulls away reluctantly to see Jack staring at him with something like wonder tinged with regret.

“Ianto, I-“

“Damnit, stop  _talking_! I have to get through this so you understand and you keep  _talking_. How am I supposed to tell you what I need to tell you if you won’t  _shut up?”_

Jack’s jaw is twitching, he’s clenching his teeth, but he’s silent. Now Ianto needs the words to say and the courage to say them. What will Jack think? Will his happiness at Ianto’s survival extend to acceptance of his new circumstances? He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and starts the best way he can. “I’ve changed.”

“Of course you have. It’s been five years. So have I.”

“Not that.”

“You died. You came back and you’re five years older. That would change anyone, but you’re still Ianto Jones, and the man I see now is even more amazing than the man I never stopped loving. I want  _you_ , whoever you are now, but I don’t want you to get hurt. Not because of me. Not again.”

Last time,  _before_ , Jack was Ianto’s boss. He was older and more experienced, and Ianto was willing to follow his lead. He was willing to accept protectiveness as one of the few gestures of affection Jack was willing to offer. Not anymore. Ianto isn’t an employee or a sidekick. Jack is still older and always will be, but Ianto has enough life experience to make up his mind. And as gestures of affection go, Jack is going to have to come up with some that don’t involve treating Ianto as if he’s a child.

Ianto grabs the front of Jack’s shirt and shakes him. “Now look here, Jack Harkness. I walked into this under my own power, eyes open. I led the way, even. I’ve chosen Torchwood and danger and the ability to serve humanity every time it’s come up, so don’t you dare act like I’m some innocent bystander caught up in your story. I may someday be a martyr, but I will never be collateral damage. Do me the courtesy of letting me decide what I’m willing to risk.”

“You  _have_  changed,” Jack says, looking a bit surprised. “I like it.”

“It’s not that. It’s only-” Ianto pauses, not sure how to explain, not sure if this is the deal-breaker. “I can see you.” 

“Of course you can, you’re looking right at me.”

Ianto rolls his eyes. “No,  _see_  you. Like the Doctor does.” Jack’s face falls, and Ianto would do anything to take it back, to not bring up the Doctor in any way. He rushes to reassure Jack. “No, I like it! You’re always there somewhere in time. Everything swirls around you. As long as you exist, forever and always, I can’t get lost. We’ll always find you.”  

“We? Who?”

“Me and the Tardis. We’re linked somehow. She likes you.”

 “You’re a Time Lord now?” Jack looks crestfallen. Ianto understands: Jack’s been tortured by one Time Lord, abandoned, used, and dismissed by another. 

Ianto hadn’t thought about it, so he considers it now. No, it doesn’t feel right; he’s as human as ever, only  _more_. He takes Jack’s hand, placing it on his chest. “One heart, Jack. I won’t be regenerating or running off to find Gallifrey. I won’t be leaving you.”

“Then you’ll age and you’ll die, won’t you? You’re not like me? I don’t want that for you. It’s horrible.”

“I- maybe? I don’t know. The Tardis- who wants a proper name of her own, by the way- seems to have bonded to me. We were somehow joined telepathically while she grew, and I think it’s permanent. And the energy that fed her came through you, so it’s almost like we’re her parents. I have no idea what that means, except that she’ll take us anywhere we want to go. Where do you want to go, Jack?”

“Anywhere in the whole universe?”

“All of time and space, actually. Well, with a few exceptions. No Cardiff or London in this time. And we should probably avoid anywhere one of us has been, to avoid paradox, but other than that? I think we can go anywhere. I don’t know how to use the controls, but she designed herself for me. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out how to fly her.”

Jack runs his fingers lightly over the console. “I should be able to help, if she’ll let me.”

They settle in to a comfortable debate over what each dial and level must do, Jack basing his opinion on the Doctor’s Tardis, Ianto arguing from the perspective of a barista.

“She’s really beautiful, isn’t she?” Ianto murmurs somewhat paternally.

"The Doctor's is bigger," Jack says.

Ianto knows he’s teasing, but it stings nonetheless. "It's not about size, Jack!" he snaps defensively.

Jack winks. “What about the Master?” he asks.

“We dropped a house on her.” Ianto grins at Jack’s snort of amusement. "But she’s still alive out there. I think we’d have felt it if she died or regenerated.”

Jack looks at him sharply.  _We_ , he had said. He hasn’t stopped thinking of himself and the Tardis as a single entity, at least in some contexts. Maybe they are, maybe that’s how it’s going to be from now on? Only time will tell, and time doesn’t seem like a big deal anymore.

“Anyway, I don’t think she’s our problem. We’ll give UNIT all the data on Missy, give Torchwood everything I learned about the Cybermen, and we’ll leave this all behind. I haven’t thought yet what we should do about Torchwood. I can’t go back there, at least not permanently. Should I quit? Let them think I died? Just go missing? Tell them I’m running away with you and hand off my duties to someone else?”

“That last one leaves you the most options,” Jack says thoughtfully.

Feeble kicking is heard from outside. Ianto purses his lips. “I still feel like we should be doing something about her.”  

“You got what you wanted on the Cybermen, we foiled her dastardly plot,” Jack wiggles his eyebrows melodramatically, “and we rescued your fair maiden. I’d say we’ve done our bit.”

Ianto nods slowly, saying, “We can’t wait for them to come get her or they’ll see the Tardis, and if we kill her and she regenerates, they won’t know her face. As long as we make sure there’s nothing here for them to find we should be safe.” He means himself and the Tardis, but realizes that it includes Jack too. Jack needs to be kept safe from UNIT’s demands on his time and from his own willingness to be disposable. “Right. Best to tell them what they need to know, not a single thing more, and then leave.”                                                                                                  

That’s it. They have a plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never had as much trouble with a story as I did with this chapter. 80% of this was written when I posted the previous bit, leading me to believe that I’d have it done quickly. Yeah, not so much. I considered splitting it at the obvious cliffhanger, but I really wanted to keep this part intact. Many thanks as always to my beta Gmariam, who is also the chief-fire-under-arse-lighter. Also thanks to the readers who stick with me, especially the ones who review. I often find myself rereading reviews when I’m stuck to get an idea of what touches people, so it helps my process in a very tangible way.

**Author's Note:**

> So I asked myself 'What flavor of fixit have I not seen?' and this is the result. I've always loved the mystery of TW 4, so that's been thrown in, and angst and all that fun stuff. Five chapters written, possibly an epilogue. The others are in pre-beta, still some working around to be done. Anyway, here ya go. 
> 
> Speaking of beta, pre- and otherwise, great big thanks (as always) to Gmariam, who pokes and prods at me and my work until it's worth posting.


End file.
